


natural studies

by poalimal



Series: natural studies [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M, Mild? Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 22:17:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14318310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: Ukufundisisa uhlobo. lit. to study the type;natural studies. Founded by Tarisai during the years of the 8th King, this school of thought held that the purpose of life was in inquiry. 'It is the act of continually asking which bestows understanding.'





	natural studies

**Author's Note:**

> Ukufundisisa uhlobo. lit. to study the type; _natural studies_. Founded by Tarisai during the years of the 8th King, this school of thought held that the purpose of life was in inquiry. 'It is the act of continually asking which bestows understanding.'

 

_What is desire?_

On the way to the library it began to rain.

The four of them scattered. W'Kabi went one way, Okoye on his heels, loudly promising his shortcut through the-bend would be fastest. And T'Challa and Erik wound about the other way, wise enough at last to recognise when W'Kabi wanted some quality courting time: a novelty, for the Crown Princes' guard.

Of course they were soaked in seconds. This was perhaps more inconvenient to T'Challa, who (as he did most Wednesday afternoons) had gone to visit the training grounds still dressed in soft scholarly silks. The cool rain certainly did not bother Erik any. In fact, when they ducked into the closest green-alley for shelter, he was still in an excellent mood, bright-faced and grinning hard.

'Bruh, the look on your _face_ ,' said Erik, cracking up after a single sidelong glance. 'I keep telling you, man, you need to invest in some serious casual wear.'

'Erik, stop trying to get me to buy athleisure,' said T'Challa irritably. Well. He meant to say it irritably, but somehow his body had not gotten the message, and his lips remained pinned to his ears. 'Why would I even need any? Do I not look dignified?' And he gracefully whipped the sodden feather in his musing cap out of his face.

Erik laughed in his face. 'You're so--, so-o-o--,' he gasped, 'fuckin _corny_.' T'Challa was no longer offended at the comparison to cereal grain, though he had long gleaned that it was an insult. If it made Erik laugh this hard, why call trouble? T'Challa made what Shuri dubbed his Erik Face, and Erik completely lost his composure, falling back laughing against the blue-brick wall behind them. T'Challa had to catch him by his shoulders so he did not slip and fall; and his body radiated heat and humour through all their wet layers.

Nonsensically, T'Challa thought: we are alone now.

A drop of cool water right onto T'Challa's nose startled him. If we stay here, he realised, with a glance upward, we will never get dry. Above them the vibran-wood spiderbed held a canopy of holyvine, purple-leaved and fragrant, dripping down heavy raindrops onto their heads.

He set Erik upright against the wall, turning something over in his head - and then his hands tightened their grip instead of letting go. Erik was grinning big, breathing hard, still watching for the joke. He did not understand. And T'Challa did not either, not even after he had leaned almost all the way forward, too close to do anything besides slot their mouths together.

And yet still he waited. Curious, perhaps, to see what Erik would do.

Well, Erik laughed quietly, his breath warm on T'Challa's lips, and raised his eyebrow in challenge. Trust Erik to call him a coward without saying a single word! T'Challa thought, annoyed. Erik seemed to sense his aggravation because he smiled with all his teeth, completely unafraid of whatever was on offer. An unshakeable man.  
  
And T'Challa recognised at last the leap in his throat. Ah, he said; this is what I have been waiting for, all these many months. For he had not known until that moment that there are secrets you can keep from yourself.

And so they kissed.

Erik's mouth tasted like one of Nakia's mint-sticks. The taste was so unexpected, and T'Challa so unprepared for the ache of her, that he startled, and made as if to lean back. Erik made a noise low in his throat and hauled him back in by his sodden cloak and silks, and kissed him so fiercely it felt like his body could crack open and Erik would just crawl inside. He could not pause for breath without feeling Erik's chest pushing back against his, rising with him, could not look at him full in the face without going cross-eyed and dizzy. He was relentless, meeting T'Challa at every turn. Their mouths slid together, one breath, then two, again again and again, T'Challa's hips rolling back against Erik's as naturally as breathing, his whole body alight like he had never known it before, Bast, it had never--, it wasn't--, it'd never felt quite like this before--

Erik held him tight while he trembled and came, murmuring filthy-sweet nonsense in his ear. _Oh, you like that, huh?_ He did. When T'Challa returned to himself, he found that his face was buried in the crook of Erik's neck. And he rubbed his nose against the rich musk of him, and kissed his neck close.

He searched himself closely and found within him no trace of shame; and he knew that he would do this as many times as Erik let him.

Then Erik grunted and said, 'Y'all ain never heard of quid pro quo around here?' a bit pointedly. T'Challa could feel the full insistent length of him pressed up against his hip - but Erik made no move to let him out of his hold.

Erik could be so strange about saying what he really wanted. And T'Challa remembered something his mother had said, back when Erik first came to them: _we are all a sum of our learning and choice_. Something had taught Erik to be this way, to hide away the barest parts of himself - and Erik had chosen to listen.

Well. T'Challa would just have to take the time to learn him more closely, then. So he pulled upright out of Erik's grip and draped his cloak around him, till Erik was half-hidden from the alleymouth. And he carefully tugged down Erik's quarters-- that is, until he felt a flinch.

He paused and peered at Erik's face, which began to shutter even as he looked on. 'Are you well?' he asked.

'I'm good,' said Erik. And yet he did not appear so. 'Your hands are just cold, that's all.' Hm. Perhaps T'Challa was pushing too fast? No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than did Erik tug him forward and scowl.

'I said I'm good,' he said, baring his teeth but slightly, 'now _c'mon_.'

'Yes, yes, all right,' T'Challa soothed, kissing him again until his shoulders came back down from around his ears. He leaned back for a breath, then darted back in to nip at Erik's swollen lower lip. Erik blinked at him slowly, dazed. T'Challa tucked away the sight and smiled. 'Erik - may I please make you come?'

It was not so dim, between them; he could see the moment Erik's pupils dilated.

'I,' Erik swallowed hard, 'yea. Yes. Please.'

How polite he was like this, T'Challa thought, sinking to his knees and swallowing him down; how very demanding.

'Fuck,' Erik hissed, bucking his hips suddenly. _Hhggh_. T'Challa could not stop from gagging. 'Sorry! Shit. _Fuck_. Where'd you learn to do that?'

T'Challa closed his eyes and bent to his work - and he did not think about who had taught him. Or about why she had left.

Erik tapped him on the back of the head. 'Hey,' he said, low, 'come up here.'

T'Challa blinked up at him, and withdrew. 'Do I not please you?' he asked, rising to his feet. He had known himself to be very good at making men come.

Erik did not answer, and instead took his hand. 'Like this,' he breathed, curling T'Challa's hands around him, 'with me.'

'Will it not be too dry?' T'Challa wondered, trying to focus. The silent heave of Erik's chest made it quite difficult. 'I do not want to hurt you.'

Erik shrugged. 'I don't mind a little pain,' he said. There was a note in his voice that said shame. Hm. That would not do. That would not do at all.

T'Challa kissed him until he melted back against the wall; and he jerked him off carefully, spreading precum all up and down his length so the friction would not be too bad. For Erik had not yet specified how much pain was a little and how much was too much.

'Is that good?' asked T'Challa, watching him gasp. 'Do you like that?'

'Fuck,' Erik groaned, voice breaking, 'T'- _Cha_ -lla.' It was, T'Challa thought, possibly the most intoxicating sound he had ever heard.

'Bast,' he murmured, trying not to kiss him too hard, oh, but Erik would hardly let him stop for breath. 'You are beautiful.' And Erik went molten and quiet beneath him, shuddering while he came in T'Challa's hand. And it was T'Challa now who would not let him hide. 'Gorgeous--' kissing the words into the skin of his neck, wondering if he should mark them with _teeth_ '--magnificent--'

'All right, I get it, you've read a thesaurus,' Erik groused, breathing hard and pulling back. He looked to be fading fast. And still this rain had not let up. 'Can you chill out, please?'

T'Challa grasped him by the chin and kissed him carefully, close-mouthed; and he felt very tender towards him. 'Of course,' he said, resting their foreheads together, 'whatever you want.'

Erik huffed out a tired laugh and closed his eyes, shaking his head. 'Well. Now I know what I gotta do to win an argument with you,' he joked.

T'Challa laughed. For it was a very funny joke! 'Ah, Erik,' he said fondly, 'we both know that there is no winning with you.'

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Ongoing disclaimer that I do not speak Xhosa.)


End file.
